Challenge
by Quietly-Confident
Summary: Joker suggests a novel method for Jack and Miranda to settle their differences.  The game is Challenge, but how far will they push each other?  Humour, snark, random silliness. Naughty language. Re-Upload.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N_

_Re-upload. Written at the start of the year...or something. _

_Disclaimer: Mass Effect and characters belong to Bioware_

"This is fucking boring."

Jack swung idly on her chair in the mess hall of the _Normandy_, bare arms dangling lifeless by her sides. The poker game had long since lost its appeal for the young biotic who was now growing impatient waiting for it to end.

"You only say that 'cause you're out," Joker said, his focussed eyes trained on his cards.

"No," she said churlishly, cocking her head to the side, "I say it because this is _fucking boring_. Can't we do something else?"

"There's some toilets that need cleaning," Miranda suggested haughtily, picking up a card and making the slightest of grimaces.

Jack paused mid-swing and narrowed her eyes at the raven haired woman. "Screw you, Cheerleader, do I look like a janitor to you?"

Miranda sat back in her seat and crossed her legs, finally lifting her eyes to appraise the woman opposite her. "Well, I could think of better descriptions..."

The Krogan grunted with disapproval. "Not this again."

"I hear ya, buddy," Joker sympathised with Grunt before turning to the females. "Do you two _ever_ stop bitching?" he asked, glancing between them from under his baseball cap, before continuing in a pitch several octaves higher than was comfortable or suitable for the individuals he was attempting to imitate. "'You're such an ass, Miranda!' 'I know you are, but what am I?' 'You're an ass, I just said so!' 'How about if I kick you in your-'"

"You got a death wish, Chuckles?" Jack interjected, glaring at the pilot. "Just keep talkin'. Really. Go ahead." The biotic lifted her eyebrows in a silent challenge – a goading to which the worldly-wise officer knew he was not supposed to succumb.

"So uh, whose move is it, is it mine?" he asked, quickly returning his attention to the game as Jack resumed swinging on her chair, apparently satisfied by the fleeting look of fear that had flashed in Joker's eyes.

"The bitch knows I'd wipe the floor with her, anyway," she muttered, watching the Operative stare into her cards, her jaw tightening almost imperceptively, but just enough to encourage the convict's taunts. "See, she might have some fancy mods, but me? I don't need any of that crap. I got raw, natural potential." She watched the Informant's steely gaze begin to flicker with agitation. "I guess when it comes down to it," she continued with affected nonchalance, "I will always win because I didn't need my _daddy_ to make me good."

"Alright!" Miranda finally snapped, slamming her palm on the table with so much force it shook the assorted glasses and tumbled Grunt's carefully constructed tower of chips. The Operative was now on her feet, a movement quickly mimicked my Jack, whose chair was flung back behind her unceremoniously. "Let's do this, _right_ now!" Static blue energy crackled and enveloped the women as they snarled at one another, each adopting an attack stance, feet spread apart and leaning forward.

"Look, just everybody breathe!" Joker said evenly, rising to his feet slowly and almost forgetting to take his own advice. "This is stupid, you fight in here and all you're gonna do is tear out a bulkhead!" He suddenly realised that it was his voice that was telling the two enraged biotics that they were behaving like idiots and mentally began tallying how many bones a warp to his torso would break. Feeling two sets of eyes fix him with angry stares, he quickly followed with, "I have another way we can settle this. Just...quit it with the creepy glowy aura stuff."

For a moment, the occupants of the mess stood around like a mime performance, each afraid to flinch. Grunt had remained seated, and appeared relatively unmoved by the whole performance.

"Fine," Miranda finally spat, straightening herself but now glaring at Jack who followed suit and took a step back. "We're listening."

* * *

><p>"This must be the most puerile resolution to conflict ever considered," Miranda muttered irritably, showing only the whites of her eyes as Joker hobbled back to the table both she and Jack were sitting at. How what seemed to be essentially a game of dares was to settle the differences between the two women was quite beyond her, but if nothing else, it would at least give her opportunity to prove to Jack just how much better she was than her.<p>

"Yeah well, it's worth a shot," Joker retorted, standing at the head of the table and tossing a credit chip in the air. He caught it in his palm as gravity sucked it down and slapped it onto the back of his left hand. With the credit still covered by his hand he hunched his shoulders and leaned forward. "Oh, the suspense, it's killing me!" he said giddily.

"Get on with it, Joker," Miranda sniped, her tone laden with annoyance.

"Alright, alright," he replied, lifting his hand to reveal the credit. "Markers win, Jack goes first."

Miranda smirked, making boastful eyes at Jack. "Excellent. Here." The Operative slid a piece of paper across the countertop where it was snatched by a tattooed hand.

"Anything, anytime," the convict said nonchalantly, and lifting her chin with a smug look. Carefully, she unfolded the piece of paper and instantly, her expression darkened.

In a neat, cursive script so uncommon in the universe in the twenty-second century were the words:

'Wear Shepard's dress to the mess.'

Although the challenge sunk in relatively quickly, it took Jack a moment for her to articulate her thoughts.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>Jack was not afraid of many things. Life had taught her a plethora of lessons and most of them had been delivered the hard way. She had developed a thick skin to match her hardened attitude and very rarely did anything penetrate her barriers . So it had taken her a little longer than the average human to figure out that that churning feeling in her stomach and the weakness in her legs were symptoms of fear caused by the daunting challenge that lay before her.<p>

The mess had seemed like as good a place as any to corner the Commander. The crew would be too busy filling their faces to notice their exchange and the Cerberus bitch would likely be holed up in her quarters, talking to Sugar Daddy or re-inflating her tits or whatever the hell it was she did in there. The convict was therefore dismayed to stride into the mess and find Miranda reclined gracefully on one of the seats around the dining table in deep conversation with Shepard.

_Shit shit shit. _The biotic made to turn and leave but she halted as her presence was made known by a loud Australian voice.

"Oh, hello Jack! My, we don't often find _you_ up here!"

Jack turned slowly, ignoring the glances from the various members in the mess and forcing a wide grin. "Well, a girl's gotta eat, Cheerleader," she responded, sinking a great deal of effort into controlling her tone. "Although," she added, tilting her head and squinting over Miranda's body, "you might want to go easy on the ol' carbs."

As the Operative checked herself over as surreptitiously as she could, Shepard rose from her seat and made her way to the kitchen. Seizing the opportunity, the convict moved quickly to the Commander's side.

"So, uh, Shepard," Jack said awkwardly, thrusting her hands into her pants' pockets to hide the fact that she was fidgeting uncontrollably.

"Mhm?" the brunette replied as she ladled some brown slop into her bowl, her expression creasing into a grimace as she noted its viscosity by shaking the bowl this way then that.

Jack watched her inspect the culinary triumph and sidled a little closer. "Yeah uh...I got something I wanna ask you," she said, her voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Do you know what the hell this stuff is?" the Commander asked, glancing at Jack then lifting the bowl to her nose and sniffing.

"What?" the convict blinked, a little off balance from the random inquiry.

"I thought it was porridge at first but it's too dark and definitely doesn't smell like it."

"Shepard, I haven't got a damn clue, listen-"

"I really need schedule a shore leave on the Citadel - pick up some of those provisions Gardner was talking about. I mean, this stuff is hazardous." The brunette shrugged and placed the bowl on her tray, sliding along to inspect a basket of wilted fruit.

"Yeah, great," Jack agreed absently before glancing over her shoulder anxiously and following the woman. "Listen, you know that dress?"

She felt her anxiety spike as Shepard paused and arched a brow at her. "The one Goto or whatever the hell her name is gave you," she clarified, undeterred, glancing askance at Miranda who had taken up prime position of the production, leaning against the bulkhead with folded arms.

"Yeah...?" the Commander drawled uncertainly, staring at the woman apprehensively.

"Well..." Jack looked again, only to find Miranda struggling to contain her snorts of laughter. She'd put heroic efforts into covering the wide rictus her mouth had stretched into, but the facade was somewhat transparent given her convulsing shoulders. Jack began to sweat. "Well..." she said again as she backed away, feeling herself panic under the confused stare of the Shepard and Miranda's strangled chuckling. "Well...you walk like you've pissed yourself when you wear it!" she blurted, before spinning abruptly and storming off, casting Miranda a cursory glare as she passed her.

Shepard turned with the biotic, watching her march off with brows knitted above the bridge of her nose. "What the hell was that all about?" the commander asked, throwing Miranda a bewildered stare.

The Operative shrugged and turned her back to the Commander, a large grin rebelling against her impassive countenance. "Beats me."

* * *

><p>After a few hours of thumping the life out of her pillow, Jack had concluded that to actually <em>ask<em> Shepard for the dress would be far too embarrassing and also completely unnecessary. The Commander was undoubtedly a very perceptive woman on that battlefield when she was pumped with adrenaline, but the convict had noticed her attention to detail tended to slip a little whilst she was relaxed on the _Normandy_. It was a trait Jack had already exploited in order to get a hold of the Cerberus OSDs a little earlier than the Commander had intended. And so, armed with her new plan, Jack made her way up to the loft and buzzed Shepard's quarters.

"Jack?" the soldier asked, clearly confused by what the biotic was doing out of her hidey hole.

"Uh, hi Shepard," she replied, burying her hands in her pockets and rocking her weight onto her toes and back.

The two stood in awkward silence for a few seconds, the thrum of the engines below distantly calling.

"Do you...need something?" Shepard asked uncertainly.

"Yeah. I uh...wanted to..." she trailed off, finding bullshitting to Shepard a little harder than it used to be. "What I said earlier, I didn't mean to..." The biotic rubbed the back of her neck nervously, attempting to draw some inspiration from the floor tiling. "Shit. I wanted to-"

"Jack," Shepard interrupted with a smile. "Don't worry about it. I forgive you."

The convict smiled weakly as the Commander gestured for her to follow her into her cabin.

"I'll just be a sec, just freshening up," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bathroom.

"No problem," the biotic replied, waiting for the door to hiss shut before her eyes started darting about the cabin for signs of the dress. Sliding open Shepard's wardrobe furtively, Jack began frantically rummaging through the clothes rack, growing more frustrated with each garment that failed to match what she was looking for..

"I was just talking with Zaeed earlier," she heard the Commander's voice carry over the running water. "Wants us to help him settle an old score with a merc leader. Figured you'd be interested."

Jack grabbed at a hanger and held it up to the light, only to thrust it back into the wardrobe in frustration. "Hell yeah," she called over her shoulder but focussing on her search. "You know me, Shepard, any excuse."

"Good. I'll brief you nearer the time then. Told Thane we'd help him out first. Listen, you're not going to like this, but I'm detailing both you and Miranda on this one."

Still engaged in rifling through Shepard's clothing, Jack had stopped really paying attention. "Oh yeah, great, can't wait."

The commander suddenly leaned out of the bathroom doorway, toothbrush hanging in her mouth; the movement was fortunately caught by Jack in her periphery vision and she accordingly slid shut the wardrobe and assumed a slouching posture against its door. "I thought you didn't get on with Miranda?" Shepard asked suspiciously, regarding the biotic through a puzzled frown.

"What? I don't! I mean, I do. I mean...I _will_. Y'know, for the mission." She gave a sheepish laugh and watched the commander raise her eyebrows and disappear back into the bathroom shaking her head. Once she was out of sight, Jack resumed her search. After another flurry of frantic rummaging, the convict found what she was looking for, and hurriedly secreted it down her pants before shutting the wardrobe again and bolting for the door.

"I'm glad you're managing to work through things with her, Jack. Y'know, when we picked you up, I wasn't sure you'd fit in with the team, but I can see that you're making the effort. Turning over a new leaf maybe, huh?" The Commander paused for a response, but received none. "Jack?"

Shepard frowned and walked out of the bathroom, glancing about herself only to find that she was now completely alone on her cabin.

* * *

><p>Powering along the Crew Deck causeway, the biotic didn't even bother to attempt access to the womens' restrooms. They were always so full of scantily clad, giggling women whose bodily exposure rather ironically made her feel uncomfortable.<p>

"Jack. The womens' restrooms are on the starboard side of the ship," EDI helpfully reminded her as she darted into the mens' restrooms.

"Screw you, Robocop!" the convict roared back, punching the lock on the door with the side of her fist.

"Logging you out, Jack."

She held the tight, black garment up in front of her, regarding it with a pained expression. She hated dresses. She hated skirts. So impractical, so stupid. This one didn't even have holsters for a gun! The stray question of where Shepard had concealed her weapon on Bekenstein quickly slid through the convict's mind before she shook her head and decided to bite the bullet. Standing in front of the mirror, Jack tugged the dress over head and shoulders before smoothing the soft leather down over her square hips and backside.

She frowned at her reflection, at the way the ill-fitting dress fell slack around her chest; at the way it hung awkwardly from her bony shoulders and somehow failed to hug her shallow curves the way it had on Shepard.

"God damn," she muttered to herself, before turning to the side and appraising herself. "I'm going to kill the Bitch for this."

* * *

><p>"Oh, hey Ja-oh...my...god," Kasumi spluttered when she caught sight of Jack as she left the restrooms, her eyes sweeping the length of the biotic's form. Heavy thick boots adorned her feet, as usual, their shafts met by dark coloured trousers that disappeared, despite the thief's disbelief, under the black leather dress she had gifted to the Commander. Her eyes continued to drift upwards before they met with Jack's angry scowl.<p>

"You look..." Kasumi began, watching the convict's eyes narrow considerably, "...nice. Real nice!" The thief smiled nervously.

Jack snorted. "Whatever," she said, shouldering past the petite form and stomping down the corridor in a most un-lady-like fashion.

* * *

><p>"I'm tellin' you, that damn turian's messin' around has thrown off the previous calibrations. We're goan'tae have tae tweak the forward capacitors to readdress the balance." Donnelly shovelled another mouthful of stew into his mouth and began chewing noisily.<p>

"I wasn't disagreeing with you, I was just-Kenneth, would you mind closing your mouth when you chew? I don't need to see your half-masticated dinner."

"My what? You're a dirty girl, Daniels. Dirty, but I like it."

"Ugh, you're a pig." Gabby despaired of Donnelly at times...normally when he was flirting outrageously with anything resembling a female. She watched him continue to smack his lips together with each chew and idly wondered if he was continuing with it just to annoy her. He did that sort of thing.

"Pigs are very clean animals you know," he proclaimed with his mouth half full and pointing his spoon at his fellow Engineer. "Unlike you, as we have already established."

"Keelah, you two are giving me a headache," Tali grumbled from a couple of seats down.

"I, too, am finding the direction this discourse has taken rather unpalatable," Thane agreed, inclining his head slightly in the engineers' direction.

Kenneth munched absently for a moment and shrugged before beginning anew. "You know I caught that crazy girl from engineering in the mens' showers the other day. Completely starkers! And let me tell you, what a sight it was. Made my day."

"Oh for the love of _God_, Kenneth!"

"Those tattoos don't stop at her waist you know! Ohhhh no, they go all the way down to her-"

"Will you shut your trap already?" Gabby yelled at him. "And stop making that...dog lapping up water noise. It's doing my head in!"

The engineer shrugged again and poked his food around in his bowl. Gabby turned to Thane and Tali, feeling a strange compulsion to apologise for her team mate's behaviour.

"Sorry. He's not always like this. Believe or not, he can be quite charming at times. Right, Kenneth?"

Gabby returned her attention to the engineer and was completely horrified to find him sitting there, gawping with an open mouth, full of food. Pieces of half-chewed meat tumbled from the void, landing with a splat on the table before him.

"Kenneth!" Gabby snapped angrily, repulsed by his childish antics. "That is _not_ funny!"

"Nnngh," he stammered, eyes wide and fixed ahead.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" she asked in frustration, following his line of sight.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, clasping her hands over mouth.

By now, both Tali and Thane were frowning at the engineers' reactions and turned to find the source of the commotion.

"Keelah..."

"Ah."

There, illuminated under the harsh lighting of the mess, stood Jack, arms folded and wearing a dress that looked like it bore a grudge being draped across her frame.

"Gabby. I think I've just died and gone to heaven," Kenneth breathed, his power of speech having returned in the last few moments.

The convict scanned the immediate area and prowled around corners before finally turning abruptly and addressing the shocked crew members who were all still staring at her incredulously.

"Where the fuck is the Cheerleader?" she demanded to know, glaring at them each in turn.

"Uh, you mean Miranda?" Donnelly inquired stupidly.

"Here I am," the Operative said brightly from behind Jack, who quickly spun on her heel to face her.

Before Jack had the opportunity to open her mouth, Miranda levelled a camera at her and snapped a picture, the flash momentarily dazing the convict and forcing her to stumble backwards through heavy blinking.

The Operative grinned widely, inspecting the preview on the screen. "Perfect," she said, before shooting Jack a mischievous wink and bolting out of the mess.

"Bitch! Get back here!" the biotic roared, taking off after her and leaving the occupants of the mess to pick up their jaws from the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

"How're those stabilisers lookin' after the co-efficient readjustments, Gabby?"

"Well...it's looking pretty good. Slight fluctuations now and then, but nothing to worry about. Famous last words, right?"

A dull crash sounded from below their feet, causing the engineers to pause, cast a cursory glance to the griddled flooring, then to each other, before returning their attention to their terminals.

"Well, the gravi-metric profile is looking more normal now." Another thud and muffled raking sound drifted up from below, this time going ignored by the Cerberus personnel. "I'm not seeing that fantastic shade of violent red anymore."

A louder clank preceded a guttural roar before a quiet filled the compartment once more.

"Too bad the same can't be said for her," Gabby quipped, dipping her head in the direction of the flooring.

"Aye, I think she's still a little upset about...the dress."

Another sudden burst emanated from Jack's hidey hole, an unmistakable biotic blast making the flooring shudder under the engineers' feet.

Gabby exchanged a look of concern with Kenneth. "Y'think?"

* * *

><p>She awoke feeling god-like. That sensation was no stranger to Miranda Lawson – she was, after all, a pretty fantastic example of her species; smarter, faster, stronger and more attractive than the average human, the operative rarely went days without feeling a tinge of superiority over the lesser mortals who surrounded her. However, today, that feeling was positively divine. The colourful castigation Jack had delivered as she pursued the operative along the access corridors of the ship the evening before had only added to the woman's sense of satisfaction, after capturing the convict's utterly ridiculous attire in a photograph that promised many hours of entertainment.<p>

She smiled unconsciously all the way through her morning routine: as she tidied up her bed covers, through her shower and the blasts of warm air that dried her long, wavy locks; as she zipped up her cream-coloured jumpsuit (which looked great on her, by the way) and as she settled at her terminal to review the day's schedule and read any new messages that had arrived.

It was during this last task, that Miranda Lawson's cheerful disposition began to falter for the first time that day. As her eyes scanned the down the list of mails in her inbox, they paused and hovered over one.

'Sent by: IntServ-SR2-Jack.'

_Shit_.

'Re: payback bitch.'

_Double shit._

* * *

><p>"Hee hee hee!"<p>

He quickly stifled his laughter, pressing a clenched fist to his lips, the noise now escaping through his nose in a rapid burst of snorts. He glanced about himself anxiously, and, convinced that there was nobody around, looked at the screen again. "Hee hee hee...haw haw...hahahahaha!"

Joker's giggles morphed into throaty chuckles the longer he stared at the photograph; he couldn't help it. Jack looked hilarious in a dress and yet exactly how he had imagined she would appear: awkward and very, _very_ pissed off. He'd been stealing glances at the picture all morning, having taken a considerable length of time getting over the initial shock of discovering that Miranda did indeed have a sense of humour after all. It looked as though she'd sent the picture to the entire _Normandy_ mailing list – an action even he would think twice upon. Scuttlebutt around the lower decks was that in an uncharacteristic display of spitefulness, she'd also printed out numerous hard copies and plastered them around communal areas of the ship. He knew that Lawson thought highly enough of herself to not really fear any sort of repercussion from the psychotic biotic living in the _Normandy's_ bowels, but was she forgetting that she was yet to face her challenge? Joker decided at that moment that the ship's second-in-command was either disgustingly self-assured, or disturbingly stupid.

He sighed deeply and relaxed back in his leather-upholstered seat, safe in the knowledge that although he had set these events in motion, he, for once, was not getting tangled in the immature antics aboard the ship. Humming to himself thoughtfully, he reached forward and tapped on his screen.

"Hee hee hee!"

* * *

><p>"Kiss Vakarian?"<p>

The words were filled with disbelief and unbridled rage as they flew from the operative's mouth with the same gusto with which she had charged into Jack's hovel. "You want me to _make a pass_ at the _Cerberus-hating_ turian. One of the strongest opponents to the Cerberus organisation. A violent, sniper-wielding alien who quite possibly hates me more than Shepard herself. And you want me to do this in front of the crew?" The woman glared at the biotic before her, lips thinning with annoyance at the gloating face that stared back.

"You catch on pretty quick, Cheerleader," Jack replied with feigned admiration, swinging her legs from the cot and planting her booted feet on the floor below. "And not just any kiss either. Full-on lip contact," she clarified before leaning forward and pointing a crooked finger at the operative. "And I had better be around to see it."

The raven-haired woman stared at Jack, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and feelings on this matter. "Have you lost what is left of your tiny, troubled mind? It's impossible. It's _obscene_! I won't do it. The deal's off." Miranda folded her arms and lifted her head as if to emphasise her defiance.

"So I take it I win then?" the convict taunted, leaning back in her cot casually and linking her fingers behind her head. "Figured you'd be too pussy to take me on."

The operative narrowed her eyes as she unfolded her arms, hating herself for falling for such amateurish reverse psychology. Her fists clenched tightly by her sides. She couldn't stand this foul-mouthed mistake lounging about lazily on _her_ ship, manipulating her in ways no one had managed since her father; but she was damned if she didn't acknowledge the tiniest modicum of respect for the crazy headcase. To her credit, Jack had met her challenge head-on and tackled it with as much force as she did...well...anything with a pulse. She couldn't let Jack win. She _wouldn't_.

"Fine!" she snapped shortly, then continuing in an easier tone. "I'll play along. But you had better be prepared for the consequences. I'm not going to let this one slide."

Miranda turned her back to the convict, who snorted at that parting threat.

"What was that, Cheerleader?" she heard her call as she began climbing the stairs, Jack's voice growing more distant with every step. "All I'm hearing is 'blah blah blah I'm a pussy bitch blah blah blah...'"

* * *

><p>Left alone once again, Jack paced the small distance between her cot and the bulkhead, something sinister but darkly entertaining brewing behind those cold, almond-shaped eyes. She had to make the Cheerleader pay for her tricks; make her pride suffer in the same way that hers had. Suddenly she halted, struck by a bolt of genius. A slow smirk crept across her lips as she turned and made for the stairs up to the engineering deck.<p>

First stop: the tech lab.

* * *

><p>"Well, that shouldn't be a problem at all, Commander," Miranda affirmed later that afternoon, keeping in step with the soldier's easy stride as they cut their way through the mess hall, affording polite nods to crew members as they caught their eyes. They slowed to a stop to exchange a further few words, Shepard taking occasional sips of her coffee as she puzzled over the readings on the data pad Miranda handed her. The <em>Normandy'<em>s second-in-command had not known the commander very long in person, but she hadn't risen to her esteemed position within Cerberus without being able to read a person, and could already tell by Shepard's quizzical look that they may be here longer than she had intended. It wasn't that Shepard's confusion on certain matters was bothersome – she actually found her befuddlement rather endearing and at times, secretly amusing; however, there were some things the operative wasn't cleared to explain to the commander, and such restrictions inevitably led to bitter entanglements and resentment.

Noticing Mordin approach in her periphery vision, she silently cursed fate. Now, they definitely would be here longer than she intended.

"Operative Lawson. Know you're busy. Don't mean to disturb. Important matter to discuss."

Miranda shot the Salarian an annoyed glance. A word with the professor could mean several million syllables and a pressure headache to boot. She really wasn't in any mood to entertain his opinions on the efficiency of ocular flashbangs or indeed his theories regarding scale itch contamination.

"The commander and I have important business to discuss ourselves, Mordin. Please, send me a report and I'll schedule some time to meet up later this afternoon."

"Yes. Aware of number of issues requiring attention. Must stress urgency. Matter one of..." he cleared his throat and leaned closer, "_personal_ significance."

That caught Miranda's attention as she glanced at Shepard then stepped towards the Salarian, taking his arm and speaking at a hushed volume. "What are you talking about, professor?"

"Know acting as ship's second-in-command is... stressful. Induces urges once previously dismissed as...unsavoury."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked with a frown, now thoroughly bewildered.

Mordin blinked then inhaled. "Feel obliged to warn of medical risks involved in human-turian sexual intercourse. Aware of your ..._romantic_ interests in officer Vakarian-"

The sudden snorting noise from behind them attracted their attention, both turning to catch sight of Shepard spraying out a mouthful of hot coffee before continuing to choke and cough violently.

Miranda spun around and advanced on the Salarian. "Will you keep your voice down!" she hissed as she fixed the professor with a fiery glare, but his attention was now preoccupied with the distressed commander. Stepping back and regarding the commander out of the corner of her eye, she announced loudly, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mordin. But I'm sure we can discuss this _misunderstanding _later." And then, lowering her voice, through her clenched jaw she squeezed the words, "In _private_."

He sniffed and shook his head. "Human squeamishness. Very well. However, must insist on medical consultation before commencement of sexual ritual with-"

"Get out of here, Mordin!"

The Salarian blinked and with a shrug to the shoulders, focussed his attention on his omni-tool and ambled off in the direction of the elevator.

Turning slowly, a bombardment of explanations raced through the operative's mind but made themselves conspicuously scarce as her eyes met with Shepard's. A moment of silence stretched out between the two women, the commander's smirk growing wider with every second.

"So..." she said finally. "Turians, huh?"

Miranda's pale, porcelain skin took on a warmer note, betraying her will to appear unfazed. "I don't know what the hell he's talking about," she bristled, feeling her face flush further under the commander's grin. "I...I'll talk to you later." And with that, the operative turned abruptly and strode off in the direction of her office, more flustered than Shepard had seen her to date.

* * *

><p><em>That cheating, conniving psychopath!<em> Miranda thumped her desk with the side of her fist, furious with Jack's enlistment of Mordin to her cause. It was bad enough that Vakarian was going to think she had no control over her impulses after she...after she...after her challenge; but now Shepard assumed she had some sort of genuine crush on the turian! Quite unbidden, the thought of what Garrus' mandibles would feel like against her lips slipped stealthily into her quiet contemplation and she immediately began to feel nauseous. Despite her life experiences, her impressive schooling in both scientific and artistic fields, she had virtually no desire to experiment sexually with other races. How would it even work with a turian anyway? Her stomach churned to admonish the thought and she rubbed a hand over her face wearily, already resenting this stupid game.

* * *

><p>The elevator doors parted ways with a distinctive swish Kelly Chambers grew tired of hearing. It wasn't something that ever bothered her when something exciting was happening, or even when she had to use the lift herself. But at slow times during her shift, when there was little to do at her post but play pong on her terminal, the noise became really rather irritating. She could now even tell with frightening accuracy who was departing from the elevator, just by the sounds of their footsteps alone. And by the steady, measured rate of hollow clunks that only certain heels made, Kelly knew instantly that the crew member approaching was Miranda Lawson.<p>

"Oh, hello Miranda," Kelly chirped brightly.

"Yeoman," Miranda replied with her normal air of detachment.

"I'm glad you stopped by. We received a delivery for you whilst you were groundside."

Miranda looked at Chambers impassively. "And? Have it taken to my quarters."

"Ahah, well, erm..." the Yeoman stammered, blushing as she wrung her hands together. "The thing is, I need your signature for the...goods." She turned and lifted a data pad from her work station, handing it to the other woman who glanced over its contents, a brow raised in curiosity.

"I don't recall placing this order," she said, eyes still focussed on the information. "Come to think of it, I don't even know what it's for," she added, scribbling her signature idly with a shrug and handing the data pad back to Kelly.

"Oh?" she asked playfully, and then seeing how that was met with the same stony countenance as before, revised her tone. "_Oh!_" she said emphatically, nodding slowly with a knowing smirk. "Yes, I see. You don't _know_ what the package could be. It has nothing to do with you. Got'cha." Feeling quite confident her assistance in this matter would earn her brownie points with the operative, the yeoman bravely shot Miranda a wink, before keying something into the data pad.

"Chambers, is there something I should know about this package?" the biotic asked, a little perplexed by the girl's behaviour.

"Uhh," she redhead stalled, wondering how to respond to the query. "I think they'll make good..._reading_ material," she offered, before adding, "Very..._entertaining_."

A furrow had now developed between Miranda's neatly plucked brows. "They're magazines?" she asked with what the yeoman began to fear was genuine ignorance.

"Well..." Kelly replied in a hushed tone, glancing over her shoulder briefly, "yes."

"What the hell do I want with a stockpile of trashy literature?" Miranda asked irritably, not pausing for a response. "I get enough tabloid rubbish and spam in my inbox. I don't want them cluttering up my office, understood?"

"Oh. Alright, then," she said, sporting her own delicate frown. "What should I do with them?"

"Chambers, I don't really care. Surely some of the rest of the crew would be interested in that kind of thing?"

Kelly Chambers was a very bright girl, but what was better than that on a ship like the _Normandy_ was that she was good with people – she was emotionally intelligent. However, the trouble with emotionally intelligent people is that they sometimes like to see patterns of behaviour that aren't actually there and quickly convince themselves, despite large bodies of evidence suggesting otherwise, that they can read a person by their mannerisms, gestures or inflections of voice. Unfortunately for Miranda Lawson, Kelly Chambers was in such a way tragically afflicted.

"_Ohhhh_," she giggled, "_now_ I see what you mean. Certain _other_ members of the crew might be interested...yes..." The redhead was now quite obviously smirking at the Cerberus operative, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes making the raven-haired woman feel oddly unbalanced. "I'll take care of it, Ma'am, don't you worry." And with a nod of her head, Kelly returned her attention to her terminal, leaving Miranda completely flummoxed by their entire exchange.

* * *

><p>The day had been long and fraught and the operative was looking forward to nothing more than snuggling up in her bed and drifting off to sleep. Dropping into her seat, she rubbed at neck, idly stretching it this way and that. With her other hand, she tapped on her console and let the terminal assemble together all her unread messages. As the computer churned through the extensive list of messages, Miranda noticed a package on her desk – an explanatory note taped to its lid.<p>

'_Dear Miranda, I know you said you weren't interested in them, but I just _had_ to save you these issues – in my opinion, they are very informative. I took the liberty of sending the rest of the good stuff to that certain _other_ crewmember. Hope things turn out well. Kelly.'_

"What in the name of all that is holy has gotten into her?" she muttered to herself as popped the clasp on the container and flipped open the lid. Lifting the magazines from the box, the first thing the operative's eyes fixated on was the publication's title: _Fornax._

_Oh God._

Her eyes read down: _Turian Specials, vol. XXII_

"Bitch!" she growled, slamming the magazines onto her table angrily and accidentally elbowing her keyboard to her left.

What happened next was about to make Miranda's evening a lot more stressful.

* * *

><p>A low thrum buzzed in the stillness of the mess hall. Most of the crew were fast asleep at this hour, with only a handful on night rotation stifling yawns as they assumed their posts. It had been an hour and a half since the shift change; the night staff had sluggishly dragged themselves to the kitchen for their breakfast, complaining loudly about stupid o' clock and bemoaning the lack of seasoning in Gardner's 'scrambled eggs'. Some of the crew had wisely avoided the chef's dubious creation, instead opting for the tried and tested cereals that were spoiled anyway by the UHT milk the ship stocked.<p>

It was in this period, during the night shift, after the cluster of bodies had shuffled away, leaving the work surfaces of the kitchen in various states of disrepair, that Kasumi Goto liked to make herself comfortable at the dining table, reclined between two seats, with one of her favourite novels from her extensive collection. She had settled into this practice fairly soon after joining up with Shepard, enjoying the peacefulness of the hour, but feeling too isolated in her quarters to really feel comfortable. Most nights passed with little or no interruption, and the thief found herself becoming more and more immersed in these romance epics of times long gone.

'_Innis' rippling pectorals glistened in the mid-day sunlight, his perspiration mixing with the dirt on his face and muddying his already dark, exotic features. By lifting his arm to rub his forehead with the back of his hand, he accentuated his bulging biceps that had grown out of many years of toil and hard physical labour. An axe dangled helplessly in the powerful vice of his other strong hand, and Angharad found herself begging inwardly to trade places with that inanimate, ungrateful tool.'_

Kasumi bit her bottom lip, suppressing a roguish grin, her heart rate beginning to pick up speed.

'"_I've been looking for you for a long time," she said sultrily, advancing on the man who haunted her dreams on a nightly basis. _

_The chiselled Adonis turned, his black, mysterious eyes locking with her pale blue orbs. "Well, I guess you found me," he replied, his voice a deep rumble, resonating with her soul. Tossing aside his axe casually, he began to close the distance between their two bodies. "Come 'ere, you," he growled, wrapping a strong arm around her waist.'_

"Jesus Chrrrist!"

It rang through the air like a flat note, discordant with the mess' stillness. Kasumi looked up from her novel, her look of puzzlement largely obscured by the shadows cast by her hood. She hadn't had time to suss where the exclamation had come from, the following hush laying the trail cold. With the slightest of shrugs, she returned her attention to her story, scanning down the lines to where she had broken away.

'_Angharad ran her soft, delicate hands over the bumps and contours of his muscular chest, her rational mind forever silenced by the raging torrents of passion within. Their lips locked in a fiery kiss, each vying for dominance over one another.'_

Pained moans punctuated by throaty grunts drifted in the air - distant, but still quite distinct in the hushed quiet of the mess hall. The thief glanced up once more, her suspicions aroused as she sat up in her seat and listened more attentively. The noises continued with relentless fortitude and as she rose to her feet, letting the novel fall from her lap and onto the floor, they grew louder and more vigorous the closer to Miranda's office she ventured.

Taking furtive steps up to the door and hitting the holographic interface to open it, Kasumi crept into the office, peering around cautiously as she moved forward.

"Miranda?" she called, announcing her arrival in case she was intruding. "Everything okay? The door was open but I thought I heard-whoa!"

The thief froze, dumbstruck by the sights and sounds that confronted her.

Suspended above Miranda's desk played a lewd and explicit projection of what appeared to be a turian-human sexual engagement, with both forms stripped of all clothing and locked in some very compromising positions; various limbs stuck out at irregular angles whilst other parts appeared...distended.

After a moment of gawping, Kasumi blinked back into awareness only to find her gaze locked with that of a very abashed Miranda Lawson. The operative's appearance seemed to shimmer behind the projection, but her utter dismay at being discovered in this rather inexplicable situation was translating across the room very clearly indeed.

"Uhm. Sorry, Miranda, I...this is obviously a bad time for you," she stammered, beginning to back out of the office, holding up her palms in a conciliatory gesture and attempting to conceal a grin.

"Wait, Kasumi! This...it's not what it looks like!" Miranda thumped at her keyboard again angrily. "The damn thing won't switch off!"

"Hey, relax," the thief replied, her voice cracking and threatening laughter. She took a deep breath to calm herself. "I'm anything but a gossip."

Miranda glared at her petite visitor then growled at her non-responsive terminal. "Rrah! You bloody piece of junk! It's bugged to all hells!" Her chest heaved with exertion as the erotic display continued to play, becoming more heated with every passing moment. She glanced up at Kasumi once more. "This isn't...it's not...I'm not interested in this sort of thing!" she protested wildly, in the commotion her frantic hand gesture knocking the stack of turian porn onto the floor. A nude turian lay supine on the floor, staring up at Kasumi, all smouldering and glossy.

Once again pinned with Miranda's widened, mortified eyes, the thief struggled to maintain her composure.

"Listen, I'm going to leave you to...this. I just remembered...I have something really important to talk to Kelly about."

Unable to maintain a straight face any longer, the thief activated her cloak and dissolved into a fit of laughter as she staggered out of the office, giddy at the thought of the all the gossiping she and Kelly would gleam from this little gem.

* * *

><p>Miranda's evening passed sleeplessly, her thoughts dominated by the waking nightmare she had seemed to find herself in; how very kind it was of Mordin to send her some demonstration vids and to rig it to ensure that it played out before she "commenced intercourse". How very charitable of Kelly to consider her "needs" by sending her a basket of porn. Was it any surprise that she was in so foul a mood the following morning? It hadn't helped that Jack had "just dropped by" to offer her some words of encouragement. '<em>Get my gift? I charged it to your account, but it's the thought that counts, right? I hear Cuttlebone nearly burst an artery when he received your little pressie.<em>' _Wicked laughter ensued. 'Hey, do they even have arteries? Hard to tell with all their...crustiness.'_

A short shove out of her office had allowed Miranda to lock to door in Jack's face - a minor victory and one that did nothing to assuage her nerves.

Later, in the mess, she felt several pairs of eyes boring into the back of her head, the tell tale hushing as she drew near an obvious sign that she and her purported turian fetish was hot gossip. There were no surprises that a rumour circulated by both Kelly and Kasumi had managed to filter through the entire ship manifest in the space of six hours – even with the majority of the crew asleep during that time. Not really.

Picking up her mug of coffee, the operative sighed heavily, wishing she had something a little stronger to knock back to bolster her courage for her impending challenge.

* * *

><p>In the briefing room, Miranda paced along one side of the table impatiently, wringing her hands and wondering what the hell she had gotten herself into. She halted as the crew began to filter in, smiling absently as each greeted her either verbally or with a nod, but it was solely Jack's gloating presence that she felt; that was until Garrus strode into the room. The Operative watched him pause to share something with the Commander, her eyes drawn inexplicably to his flaring mandibles that she would soon taste. She felt sick.<p>

With a final nod of his head, the turian turned and began heading in her direction, weaving through the bodies congregated around the large table before finally settling at a spot at Miranda's side.

The time had come.

"Oh, hello there, Garrus," she purred as salaciously as one could, looking up at the turian from under her eyelashes.

The turian shot the operative a passing glance before fixing a stare ahead. "Lawson."

It took her a moment to articulate her strategy before she was ready to enact phase one. Miranda straightened her back, attempting to exaggerate her already ample bosom and began to play with her hair, pushing it back from her forehead and running her fingers through its length to the tips. It was a technique that had always garnered attention from human men, although exactly what Garrus would make of the gesture was anybody's guess. Quickly realising how ineffectual this method was, Miranda tossed her head to one side, sending tresses of hair through the air and flicking against Garrus' greaves.

The turian glanced down with a frown between the area on his arm and the raven-haired woman who now appeared to be baring her neck and regarding him out of the corner of her eye. Finding her behaviour entirely too perplexing for so early an hour, he coughed and shuffled a little to the side to accommodate her liberal displays of hair tossing.

Miranda's shoulders dropped immediately in a gesture of defeat and she found herself rolling her eyes at the turian's social imperceptiveness. Jack, of course, was watching gleefully from a distance as the travesty unfolded, clearly tickled by the operative's flirtations sinking like a lead balloon.

"So, Garrus," she began with a renewed energy, stepping closer in an attempt to close the gap he had purposefully created only moments earlier. "Is this...new armour?" She dipped her head towards him, letting her eyes wander across his chest with affected wonder.

Garrus looked down at his blue, battered armour, its cowl still missing a considerable portion from the right side, and then gazed with confusion at the woman. "Lawson, I wear this every day," he said flatly, staring at her like she was an imbecile. "You were there when this," he pointed to the scarring on the cowl, "happened. Remember?"

"I do, I do," she said feeling like a complete fool, but continuing undeterred, letting a hand glide up his arm. "It's just...I never realised how... _big_ you looked in it."

"Riiiight," he drawled, tensing as Miranda's fingers continued to stroke at his arm. Sensing his discomfort, she paused from massaging his arm, but left her hand there and flashed her ice blue eyes at him, apparently unaware of how odd her stance must have appeared to anyone paying attention at that moment.

"Well, uh...thanks," Garrus rumbled finally, sounding thoroughly embarrassed and reaching over with his other hand to peel away the offending appendage.

Miranda frowned as he straightened and focussed forward again, evidently finding the bulkhead at the front of the room more interesting than the Cerberus operative. "No problem," she uttered glumly, shaking her head at herself more than him.

At that point, Jack strolled past, slowing and leaning closer as she neared Miranda. "Smooth moves, Cheerleader," she quipped sarcastically in a hushed voice before walking around Garrus and settling in the space by his other side.

Miranda began to feel frustrated, that feeling of helplessness growing steadily throughout the briefing. She had tried everything to entice the turian; had used every feminine wile in her vast artillery to hook him in, but it had all either served to irritate him, or had gone completely unnoticed altogether. From the age old trick of grazing her body against his to complimenting his frankly sloppy tactical input, the operative had exhausted her options.

Whether it was the thought of Jack beating her or the desperation blossoming in her gut as Shepard called an end to the meeting that forced her into the following actions, Miranda was unsure. All she knew was that she was one of the best Cerberus operatives in existence and that Jack could not win.

"Garrus, wait!" she blurted as he turned to leave, her body momentarily frozen under his stare.

"What is it now, Law-mm!"

In one swift movement, Miranda had lurched forward, unthinking, and pressed her soft full lips between the turian's mandibles which flared wildly in response.

"Waaayyy heeeyyyy!" Jack yelled excitedly turning her head in the direction of the retiring crew and attracting bewildered looks from them all. "She's like a bitch on heat!" Jack continued, dipping her head towards the pair locked in an embrace and pointing.

Baffled faces trailed the finger to the source of the commotion and from twisted mouths escaped a cacophony of groans and gasps.

"My _God_, Miranda!" the Commander admonished through a grimace, compelling the operative to break away, herself unable to disguise the look of disgust on her face. "Show some restraint ..." Shepard shook her head in disappointment and turned to leave, signalling for the others to follow. "Come on," she called over her shoulder. "Let's leave these two love birds alone."

The crew reluctantly followed the soldier from the room, their murmurs and giggles reverberating around the compartment and Jack's wicked laughter cutting through it all with a sharpness unequalled.

Alone now in the quiet of the briefing room the pair of officers stood facing one another at the foot of the table.

After a few awkward moments of stillness had passed with only the hum of the overhead lighting to fill the silence, Garrus cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but found his mind a blank. Miranda was equally lost for words and idly wondered if one could melt in jumpsuits such as the one she was wearing. When both finally thought of something to say, each babbled their excuses to leave over one another.

"Heh," Miranda laughed sheepishly, looking at the bulkhead for inspiration. "I, uh...really appreciated your input in today's meeting, Garrus," she said clumsily, shrinking a little as her eyes met with his. Taking a deep breath, she faked a stretch and smiled diffidently. "Well..." she continued with a nervous giggle. "Keep up the good work, mate!" With that, she punched the turian on the shoulder affectionately and turned to leave, uttering silent prayers to the ceiling as she did so.

Garrus blinked as she left, her parting comment ringing in his ears.

_Wait. That made us mates?_


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you remember when we used to dance? Boom, boom-boom tshh! And incidents arose from circumstance. Boom, boom-boom tshh!" Joker's voice carried along the cockpit causeway, drawing the attention of a malevolent presence that was already closing in on his position. "One thing led to another when we were young," he sang passionately with eyes clenched shut, tapping out the rhythm on an invisible drum kit, "and we would scream together songs unsung..." Feeling the rush of the chorus approaching, he felt his chest swell with emotion and opened his mouth to release the energy. "It was the heat-"

Suddenly, and without warning, the pilot's music cut out, leaving his unaccompanied voice to fall uncertainly in its absence.

Joker spun around on his chair, his eyes falling level with a chest. A female chest. He glanced up.

"Jeez Shepard, how long have you been standing there for?" he asked, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Long enough to know that you _really_ shouldn't quit your day job," the commander gibed with a sly grin, watching the pilot shake his head and swivel back around to face the warm glow of the holographic interface.

"Right," he replied as his fingers danced across the face of the screen, "because then you'd miss me too much." He tapped on the return button with a sense of finality before craning his neck to see the woman who had not shifted from her vantage point. "That's so cute, Commander, really. Knowing that you care so much," he continued before his voice took on a more playful character. "Makes me feel all fluffy inside."

The Commander rolled her eyes and arced around his chair, leaning against the bulkhead to his side and folding her arms across her chest. "I think most of the fluff is confined to the inside of your head, Joker," she teased, lifting the outer arm from the crook of the other and gesturing towards him.

"Aaooww!" he wailed, gripping at his heart in mock agony and slouching in his seat. "Again you spurn me with your rapier wit! Oh cruel fate! Oh tainted stars!" Joker grinned from underneath his baseball cap, sensing Shepard's disapproval, and hoisted himself upright into a sitting position once more. "Seriously Commander, you should have a permit for that or something."

The soldier rolled her eyes at the pilot's childish antics and watched him reinsert the input cable she had only moments before yanked free. "Have you noticed anything...strange...going on with Jack and Miranda?" she asked, her voice coloured by genuine curiosity.

"Uh, no, not really Commander," he replied a little too quickly, returning his attention to the holographic interface before him.

"Really?" she asked flatly, suspicion tingeing her intonation. She tilted her head, appraising his reaction. "Jack wears a dress and parades around the mess hall and you don't find that even a little bit...odd?"

He swallowed hard. "Well, yeah, I guess that _is_ kinda weird. But what do you want me to say, commander? It's Jack. I told you when you brought her aboard she was all kindsa crazy."

"Riiiight..." she drawled, clearly unconvinced. "And what about Miranda making out with Garrus in the briefing room?"

"Miranda made out with Garrus in the briefing room?"

"Joker..." His name was intoned reproachfully.

"Hey, what's with the third degree, Commander?" he exclaimed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I don't know what's going on with them. They're always at each other's throats, you know that."

She studied him for a moment, watching his eyes dart about on his screen skittishly. It was always difficult to tell whether that particular trait of Joker's was down to nerves or his caffeine addiction which, in her opinion, was bordering on dependency level.

The Commander nodded and pushed herself off of the bulkhead. "Alright," she said easily, walking past the pilot. "But you know what the consequences of lying to me are, Joker, right?" she called over her shoulder.

"Uhh, immediate cessation of nummy-nummy snacks?" he hedged hopefully through a grin.

"Yeah," he heard her reply. "Something like that."

* * *

><p>The <em>Normandy<em> SR2 was a far larger ship compared to its predecessor with the most notable developments focusing around the enlargements of the living quarters and research areas of the frigate. Essentially, the ship had doubled in size, a feature that had demanded at great expense the purchase and installation of an even greater Tantalus drive core than that which had been installed aboard the original _Normandy_. It was with all of this in mind that Shepard found herself wondering why she happened to stumble across such situations at the one she was in now with alarming regularity.

Approaching the CIC elevator she identified the unmistakable forms of Jack and Zaeed staggering around on the deck between the lift and Galaxy Map podium. Feeling her hopes of a relaxed evening sinking rapidly, she picked up her pace, only to be greeted by Jack dropping to her hands and knees and vomiting onto the warm plating below her.

The Commander halted in her tracks, watching the young biotic heave then roll onto her back with a pathetic groan.

"Uuuggghhhh, all of you stay the fuck still!"

The soldier's frown deepened as she levelled a disapproving glare at Zaeed who was swaying unsteadily over the slurring convict.

"Hah!" he bellowed, pointing at her furling form and beginning to pitch forward with the imbalance the action caused. Shepard lurched forward, catching the mercenary by the arms and steadying him upright once more. "Told you you couldn't keep up with me, you mad cow!" he taunted, impressively oblivious to the commander's presence. His tone was a mix of amusement and incredulousness as he pointed again at the heaving Jack. "Look at you!" A burst of laughter tipped his balance backwards, Shepard's reactions not fast enough this time to catch any limb of his tumbling form. Zaeed slumped down the length of the elevator door, his expression one of surprise at first, turning quickly to hilarity as he realised the ridiculous position they were in.

Jack, too, having rid her stomach of the offending toxicity, was now in a fit of hysteria, cackling wildly at the mercenary's clumsiness which seemed exponentially more amusing through her drunken haze.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose before directing her attention to the ceiling. "EDI," she summoned wearily.

"May I help you, Commander?" replied the synthesized, disembodied voice.

"Get someone up here to escort Jack and Zaeed to their racks." Snorts of laughter were discharged from below her line of sight, prompting Shepard's further order: "And to keep them there until they sober up."

"Certainly, Shepard. Should I alert Dr. Chakwas as to the situation?"

The commander sighed. "No..." she replied listlessly, then grimacing at the mess on the floor. "That can wait until I'm through with them tomorrow."

"What?" Zaeed rasped belatedly from the floor, stuck by a moment of clarity as he hauled himself up into a sitting position. "Shepard's 'ere?"

"Up here, big guy," the commander gestured with a hand, meeting his lost gaze with an unimpressed look.

"Oh, bugger," he spat, before hanging his head heavily from his shoulders.

It was only moments later, following a rather indulgent snort, that Shepard had realised Zaeed had passed out quite peaceably in that position, head lolling gently with each intake of breath.

* * *

><p>Jack's following morning had been plagued with sickness and unrest, with nausea visiting in waves as she recalled the more shameful moments of the evening before. The actual trip back to the <em>Normandy<em> was a complete blank, although a receipt in her trousers' pocket had placed her at the _Stand_ carry-out at around three in the morning, so she guessed it was likely that they had used the closest Rapid Transport Terminal to hail a cab from that level. Her memory of the events on board, however, were lamentably more robust – Shepard, in her infinite wisdom, had ensured this by insisting that Jack clean up the mess she had made personally. And so, it was with a sense of resentment that the convict greeted the commander later that same day.

"You knew you were scheduled to go groundside with me this morning," Shepard said brusquely, pacing before the other scantily clad woman who was laid flat out on her cot with a forearm draped across her eyes.

"Not now, Shepard," came the disinterested reply. "I still feel like I'm gonna barf."

"I don't give a damn!" the commander roared unexpectedly, making Jack flinch and peer from under her arm at the soldier. Seeing the angry glare of the brunette, she sighed dramatically and sluggishly hoisted herself up in her cot. "Alright..." she relented and rolled her eyes, her voice adopting a facetious character. "Bad me, I shouldn't have done it, it won't happen again, yadda yadda."

Shepard's posture stiffened, her fists clenching by her sides. When she spoke, it was an iciness the commander hadn't used since their first chat weeks ago. "I couldn't care less what you do on your own time, Jack; I'm not your mother. But I _do_ expect you to follow my orders on my ship. If I say you're coming groundside with me, you report to the cargo bay at the time specified in a fit state, is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am, Commander, ma'am!" Jack parodied, giving a flippant salute, before rolling her eyes and relaxing her back against the wall. "Shit, Shepard, why don't you just use a dick next time? Damn."

The Commander shook her head in quiet exasperation. "I'm serious, Jack. You want to come on these missions, you better start to act responsibly. I don't have time to babysit anyone on this ship."

Shepard didn't wait around for the convict's response, instead electing to turn and leave her with those parting comments.

"Shit," Jack said once she was alone in the bowels of the ship and stretched her legs out before her on the cot.

* * *

><p>"So, from what I hear, someone can't take their alcohol," Miranda taunted in the mess hall, placing her forearms on the table in the kitchen and leaning her weight forward. "You know anything about that, <em>Jack<em>?"

"Nope," Jack replied simply, not looking up from her cards. "But I _did_ hear Gardner ran out of bin liners again. You should really find something else to wear, Cheerleader. What are your pom-poms made out of? Feather dusters?" The convict placed her cards face down on the table and turned to the operative, two hands poised in the air. "Ready? Okay!" Jack cheered in a vapid, affected voice and began punching the air in rhythm to her cheer. "I am, I am, I am a fucking bitch!" She snorted derisively at the narrowing eyes of the operative before returning her attention to the game.

"_You're_ giving _me_ fashion advice?" Miranda sneered, unfazed by the convict's taunts. "That's a laugh. Next you'll start wearing dresses – oh, no, wait, you did that already, didn't you?"

"Fuck off," Jack answered casually in Miranda's general direction as Zaeed threw in his hand and stood up from the table.

"I fold," he said, grabbing his bottle of whisky and ambling towards the deck's causeway. "I'm off to the Can," he called over his shoulder. "Do something more productive with my time."

"Anyway, the reason I asked is because I've devised your next challenge," the operative continued, pushing away from the kitchen table and swaggering over to where Jack was slouching at the dining table.

"Did you fall on that fat ass of yours and bump your head? I did mine already."

"We're not done yet. We play until one of us backs down. We agreed, that's the only way we settle this," the operative argued, placing a hand on her hip.

"A glutton for punishment, huh?" Jack said, glancing at the woman as she settled into a seat opposite. "Fine. I'll still wipe the floor with you."

"Good," Miranda said brightly, planting a bottle of vodka before Jack with a smirk. "You're going to need this."

* * *

><p>Jack found herself rocking her weight onto the balls of her feet and back as she waited nervously for the briefing to begin. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets, one fidgeting uncontrollably with the lid of the flask that she had stashed in her pocket. She had tried to tell herself that if anything, this challenge would be an enjoyable one – that the stupid Bitch had messed up this time. But as much as she was loathe to admit it, the commander's warning still rung in her ears and Jack had no intention of being confined to her bunk while everyone else got to go out and kill stuff. No doubt that was <em>exactly<em> what the Cheerleader was hoping for, however, so once again the convict had resigned herself to making the snooty bitch painfully aware of how much more daring and capable than her she was.

Jack idly watched the rest of the team filter into the room and settle into position around the table. She couldn't help the way her lips were pulled into a wide grin as her eyes were naturally drawn to the awkward rendezvous between Lawson and Vakarian, who each were standing stiffly and silently by one another, focussing on anything other than each other.

The chatter quickly abated as Shepard's strong, confident tone cut through the din and began to describe the day's schedule.

"Alright people, this is where we're at. As you know, we're docked at the Citadel for an essential restock and refuel. At zero-five-hundred tomorrow, we leave for Hawking-Eta to pursue this Reaper IFF that's supposed to get us through the Omega-4 relay safely. That means you all have approximately..." her voice trailed off as she glanced at her chrono, "twenty-one hours of shore leave. I suggest you all take that time to prep your gear and unwind as it's unlikely we'll be making another pit stop. Any questions?"

The inquiry was met with silence as the commander pushed off from the desk and straightened herself. "Alright, well-"

"Actually," Miranda interrupted, casting a quick glance at Jack. "Commander, I was wondering if you could tell us any more about our... _mission_," the operative said, letting her eyes flick to Jack who met them with a dark glare. Using her shoulder to push away from the bulkhead she had taken to leaning on, Jack pulled her flask from her pocket, flipped open the lid and took a quick swig, her face creasing with the alcohol burn.

"Which mission?" Shepard asked, causing Jack's jaw to tighten before raising the flask to her lips and taking another swig. Miranda lowered her head and rubbed a hand over her mouth to disguise her amusement at the situation.

"Uh, the _Collector_ one, Commander," she replied distractedly, stealing another glance at Jack from under the wall of black hair that fell across her face. She watched Jack curse silently to her side before taking a further two distinctive swigs, blinking heavily as she clumsily fixed the lid back in place.

The rest of the team's focus was centred on the unusual line of questioning the operative had taken, with one or two of them exchanging baffled expressions between themselves.

"I...think we all know the situation with the Collectors, Miranda," Shepard replied uncertainly, watching the woman closely with curiosity.

Jack rolled her eyes in exasperation and tipped a further two mouthfuls of spirit down her throat, this time the burn causing her to exhale sharply, attracting the attention of Jacob and Mordin. The pair looked over their shoulders at the convict who smiled sweetly in return, before raising her middle finger at them, dismissing their unwanted attention.

"We need to get a hold of the Reaper IFF to make it to the Collector home world safely," she heard Shepard re-iterate, as she upturned the flask into her mouth once more. "Be under no illusions, the mission is one of vital importance." Jack continued to drink, the ratio of swigs to words beginning to swim in her mind.

"Right..." Miranda nodded slowly and after a pause asked, "The _Collector mission_ you mean?"

"Yes, Miranda," the commander said irritably. "Is that clear enough for you?"

The operative watched as Jack emptied the remnants of her flask down her throat in the corner of her eye. The convict was swaying ever so slightly as she sauntered towards the table and leaned her palms against it for support.

"Crystal," she replied with a grin.

"Can we go now?" Jack blurted petulantly. "I need to take a piss."

Shepard frowned at the biotic's personal revelation as Miranda chewed the inside of her mouth to prevent an outburst of laughter.

"Since there doesn't appear to be any more questions, then...yes. Crew dismissed."

The group dispersed quickly, leaving the commander in the briefing room puzzling over Miranda's unusual behaviour.

* * *

><p>Jack stood in the mess hall, eyes fixed on the stream of black coffee pouring from the nozzle above her mug. She rarely drank the stuff, finding its bitter taste reminiscent of mud, but desperate times called for desperate measures; it was barely afternoon and already she was feeling the effects of the booze.<p>

"That was a fine performance," she heard a regal voice say from behind her. "Really. Keep that up all day and you'll do just fine."

"I don't recall asking for your bullshit vote of confidence, Cheerleader," Jack snapped, reaching to remove her mug from the machine. "Why don't you just fuck off back to daddy, okay?"

The operative laughed shortly, picking up a red apple from the fruit basket and inspecting it casually. "And miss all the fun?" she asked. "I don't think so." Sporting a wide grin, she turned on her heel and began to swagger off in the direction of her office.

Jack shook her head, muttering a string of curses under her breath as she reached for the sugar.

"Oh, by the way," Miranda added, stealing the convict's attention from her beverage. "I wouldn't bother with that," she said, nodding at the mug. "Coffee doesn't sober you up. Urban legend, I'm afraid."

Jack watched the woman's features pull into a smirk as she turned and left, feelings of rage and helplessness blossoming in her gut. She frowned at the murky drink for a moment before picking it up and emptying it into the sink unceremoniously.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>"Gooooood afternoon, kiddiwinkles! This is your ruggedly handsome pilot talking to you from the helm of the sexiest ship since the original <em>Normandy<em>. The crew will soon be departing for that illustrious oasis in the stars, the Aladdin's cave of the skies, the hippest, most sensational station in the-"

A squeal of feedback blasted over the intercom, followed by a series of muffled ruffling noises and Joker's distant voice. "Oh come on, Commander, I'm just playing around! You forget to take your chill pills this morning? Wait. Wait, Shepard, it's just a joke, what are you-"

A softened thud sounded across the speakers. "Hey! Alright, alright, I'll tell them, jeez. Such a hardass." After another pause, Joker's voice resumed its normal clarity through the speakers. "The Commander would like to remind the crew on relief that your behaviour is representative of the ship on which you serve; that there's to be no drinking to excess, no fighting, no stealing, or indeed any fun of any kind. Ow! That was unnecessary! Oh yeah, you _would_ say that..." Joker's voice grumbled to his unseen companion before the transmission ended abruptly.

Jack shook her head as she walked alongside Zaeed to the elevator. "That fucking clown," she said, thumbing the call button. "I don't get why Shepard puts up with his shit."

"He's a damn fine pilot," the mercenary rasped, stepping into the elevator and hitting the CIC button. "Just about the only thing he's good for," he added, rolling his left shoulder and stretching his neck this way then that.

Jack snorted, not wanting to give the instigator of her predicament one iota of credit. "Makes for better target practice if you ask me," she said bitterly, feeling a rush of air as the elevator doors swished open.

As they cut through the CIC, headed for the airlock, they caught up with the rest of the group who were massing just inside. Miranda appeared to be ushering the rag-tag gaggle forward when she noticed the convict's glare.

"Oh, good, you're there. I was beginning to think you'd be hiding in your hovel all night," the operative gibed.

"You're not coming with us," Jack said in an accusatory tone, realisation and apprehension flashing in her eyes.

"Of course I am," Miranda replied easily. "Going to keep an eye on everyone for the Commander."

"You don't even drink much," the convict protested, eliciting a mere shrug from the raven-haired biotic.

"Then I'll be the glass collector," she replied, raising her eyebrows in expectation.

Jack bit back on her anger and levelled a fierce glare at the woman as she fished out her flask from her trousers. She popped open the lid and took two swigs of the freshly filled canister, not allowing a cowardly break in eye contact.

"Easy!" Zaeed rumbled, watching the spectacle unfold from his six-foot-something height. "I'm not carrying you back this time," he added as the airlock opened and the crew began to shuffle out.

"Indeed," Miranda nodded seriously. "Losing you somewhere on the Citadel would be tragic and wholly detrimental to the mission," she said with a grin, turning her back on the pair and following the others off the ship.

Jack took another swig of booze, a warm glow blossoming in her cheeks. "Keep that bitch away from me tonight," she warned Zaeed before stuffing her flask back in her pocket and making her way out of the ship.

* * *

><p>The Dark Star was curiously sedate when assorted members of the <em>Normandy<em> crew sauntered through its doors. The music beat in a slower, more tranquil rhythm than it had before and the volume was soft enough to allow for comfortable conversation.

The peace of the club was not to last however, with the crew becoming rowdier with the more drinks consumed. More and more patrons had flooded in during the course of the evening, packing the dance floor with gyrating hips and wildly waving limbs.

"So, let me get this straight. We've now got humans, an asari, a turian, a quarian, a krogan _and_ a drell on the team." Garrus paused to take a swig of his drink before resting the glass on the table with a powerful clunk. "What's next for the manifest, Geth?"

Laughter rippled around the table, punctuated by a few derisive comments about the likelihood of that eventuality.

"It'd be a cold day in Hell before the commander allowed one of those walking tin cans aboard," Jacob noted, emptying the dregs of his beer bottle down his throat in one smooth motion.

"That'd definitely be a fast way to mission failure," Tali laughed.

Jack, on the other hand groaned and swayed on her stood as she lifted her shot glass to her lips. The convict couldn't quite believe the number of times those fucking words had crept up in conversation during one day and in her drunken ecstasy, had actually marvelled at the ingenuity with which the Cheerleader had woven it into the evening's proceedings. The operative had even managed to bump into a tax and revenue customs official at the bar and wasted no time in introducing him to the table as a 'tax collector'.

By her sixteenth shot, Jack had decided to level the playing field, or rather, had come to the conclusion that if she was going to go down on Shepard's Shit List, so too would the Cerberus Bitch. With this in mind, she had taken to spiking the operative's drink at every opportunity she got. This continued until the biotic was too intoxicated to think straight and had staggered off in search of pink elephants.

* * *

><p>"I'm fiiiine!" Jack protested, hoisting her bottle into the air proudly with a "woo!" and stumbling backwards. Her clandestine entry back onto the <em>Normandy<em> had not gone to plan at all, bumping into the Commander mere moments after she had passed through the airlock.

"You're drunk again," Shepard admonished, watching her fight to keep balance through narrowed eyes.

"No I'm...I'm..." Jack's eyes widened in surprise before she suddenly buckled over and vomited beside the commander's feet.

Shepard pursed her lips, but to her credit, stood her ground, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Just as she opened her mouth to reprimand the young biotic, a burst of laughter from the airlock distracted her. It was a hearty chuckle, honest and carefree. As she stepped over the paralytic Jack, her jaw dropped as an equally inebriated Miranda Lawson sallied forth, stumbling over her heels and clutching onto the bulkhead for support.

"Damn it!" she cursed to herself as she pulled herself upright.

"Miranda?" Shepard asked incredulously, observing the operative's unsteady movements.

The raven-haired biotic looked at the commander, sheepish surprise reading in her expression. She cleared her throat and removed a wayward strand of hair from her face, taking a brief moment to regain her composure. "Oh, hello Commander," she greeted casually as she began to advance on the Spectre's position. Unfortunately for Miranda Lawson, her co-ordination was more adversely affected than she had realised, and only made three steps before tripping over her feet and falling flat in front of the unimpressed woman.

Shepard looked from the collapsed operative to the crumpled convict and exhaled a mouthful of air. "Alright," she said, turning and making her way for the elevator. "I give up."


End file.
